


Only the best for the Heir

by superficial_lagoon



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Daddy Kink, King!Jack, M/M, Mutual Pining, OFC - Freeform, Royalty AU, i guess, jack is 25, jalph - Freeform, prince!Ralph, ralph is almost 16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superficial_lagoon/pseuds/superficial_lagoon
Summary: Royalty!AU.Jack Merridew has been king for 7 years already, when he's advised to find a consort. He arranges a marriage with a rich widowed duchess. Things take an unexpected turn when he finds himself falling in love with the Queen's son, Ralph, his step son, who may or may not reciprocate his feelings.(Update: Rated for the last chapter.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As said in the summary and tags, there's an age gap between the characters. At the beginning of the fic, Jack is 25, while Ralph is 16. There is no explicit sexual intercourse while Ralph is underage, I wanted to make that clear. Please leave a comment below if you enjoy the fic!

Simon has been part of King Jack Merridew’s royal council of advisors since the first day of Jack the 2nd’s rule. And that was 10 years ago. Since then, he’s witnessed more than enough of the King’s perverted debauchery and he grimly prided himself a little to know he anticipated it. He was roughly Jack’s age, even a little younger…yes, quite true.

Simon’s father had also been part of the Royal Council, under Jack’s father rule. Simon inherited his father’s wisdom and, along with other members of the council, helped form war strategies for the kingdom and even gave political and economic advice to the King.

He hated to admit this, but Jack the 2nd was a grown up brat. A reckless bastard. In fact, as to not confuse anyone further, we’ll just refer to the youngest crowned member of the Merridew bloodline as simply Jack, since his father will not be mentioned anymore. That old man though, he was cruel and morbidly fascinated with evil, but at least he took the Council seriously when they advised him not to start a war on any neighboring country.

Jack, unfortunately, didn’t inherit this trait, that of agreeing with people. He was ruthless and bloodthirsty, didn’t take orders from anyone and, a year and a half after his coronation, six months after his father had died of illness, had pounced on the weakest kingdom near theirs. So much for advising the King, Simon thought.

A few months after the first attack, they conquered the other country with unexpected (by the Council)/ expected (by Jack) ease and annexed it. It wasn’t even that their own kingdom wasn’t big enough, no, it was quite rich in land and wealth, but Jack’s greedy nature pushed him on and he didn’t stop then. Two of his best officers (Roger and Maurice) became part of the Council, and the whole army was paid quite well. But Simon still didn’t approve of the unnecessary war.

A couple months later after that, the Council, in hopes of stopping Jack from his rampage, proposed that he settles down and finds a consort. They hoped he could be tamed, maybe even stopped from sleeping with countless women and men alike, but masked the whole thing as worrying for the kingdom’s future: the King needed a heir.

Begrudgingly, Jack agreed. In short time, he arranged a marriage with a thirty years old duchess. She was older than Jack by five or six years, but he didn't care much about that. She was a widow, her husband had died on the front, and left behind a fifteen years old boy, named Ralph. Jack marveled a little at the fact that she had conceived a child when she was merely fifteen herself but didn’t mention anything on the matter. He felt it wasn’t his place anyway.

Jack wasn’t even attracted to the woman and he felt no shame in telling her one night that they should get separate quarters. The woman was beautiful, of course, but seemed old. Not because of her age, Simon guessed. Withered by life. He’d heard rumors that her marriage with Ralph’s father, as well as her second marriage, to Jack, was not arranged according to her wishes. She didn’t willingly bear Ralph and, as a result, was quite careless in raising him. Servants and aunts and uncles alike took on that job and, thankfully, took care of the child, who grew up terribly spoiled and vain. He had a good heart underneath that, Simon could tell. He enjoyed the young prince’s presence.

The Queen, he noticed, didn’t spend any time with the King. It was almost as if, Simon later confirmed it to himself, Jack had chosen the woman who would get the least in his way and who wouldn’t interfere with the Kingdom’s problems. The fact that she had a son already, who could potentially become the heir of the throne, was a welcomed bonus. Jack had chosen wisely, Simon concluded. Then again, he suspected that Jack wasn't too keen on the idea of actually having a child and bothering to raise it himself, anyway. If there was anything that Simon believed impossible, it was Jack being a father figure, even to the Duchess' son, Ralph.

The Queen sat by herself in her own gardens and with her own maids, preferred the company of women and seemed to bear a cold attitude towards every man she had ever met at the court (and outside of it). She didn’t come to the Council’s meetings. She didn’t attend parties by the King’s side. If she did, she wandered away from him during their first hour there. She rarely sat on the throne. Soon, a wing of the huge castle became known as The Queen’s Side and nobody ever went there without a purpose.

Simon didn’t look down on her lifestyle, however. He pitied the Queen more than anything else and often glanced away from her distant, distraught pale green gaze, which held specks of grey in it, the color of an old widow’s hair, the color of bleak winter days. Not even her son, Ralph, sought her presence. He seemed quite disturbed by his own mother. Simon had noticed that one day, when the King held a party to celebrate a new conquest, that her hand petted her son's hair mechanically, while Ralph cringed and avoided her empty gaze. A few moments later, when the creepy petting hadn’t stopped and his mother seemed deeply rooted in her own thoughts, champagne glass in her left hand, Ralph gingerly took her hand and placed it away from his golden locks. A laugh came out of Jack’s mouth, intoxicated by the Cabernet sauvignon and Ralph flushed, smiling wide for the rest of the night. Simon had felt so bad for the Queen, watching the scene unfold. 

Simon hadn’t expected it --- no one had. Jack enjoyed his step son’s company. He soon began to take him to every single event he attended, proudly presenting him to everyone, as the Heir. He spoiled Ralph rotten. Bought him expensive clothing made from the finest materials, as he did for the Queen. The only difference was that Ralph proudly wore the gifts he received from Jack, unlike his mother. It seemed the King had taken a quick liking to his beautiful step son, whose looks were complimented through the whole kingdom.

Maybe he liked Ralph a little too much, Simon suspected. This had all happened while his son was close to sixteen and continued on. Just before Ralph’s 16th birthday was coming up, Simon had read the following in a personal letter from Jack, in which he invited his closest advisor to the party.

_“…he’s just so young and full of life, Ralph. He lights up the whole castle with his laughter, laughter which is mirrored in his gaze.”_

Jack fussed about the upcoming event and ordered the preparations to start a month before the actual birthday. He was quite stressed about this and organized everything down to the most unimportant detail. He supervised it all and was still worried – Simon could see right through him—that the young prince wouldn’t like it, or that something would go wrong, or that it wasn’t good enough. Only the best for the Heir, after all.

At the party, the King a little drunkenly confessed to Simon, on the balcony facing the Royal Gardens, near the midnight of an August day, the night Ralph turned sixteen:

“The Garden is really beautiful this time of the year”, he remarks uncharacteristically.

“Of course, I don’t really care for such things—“ He gestures vaguely with the hand not holding his glass and pauses, glancing down at the green bushes and wide arches of flowers in full bloom. “—but Ralph,” Simon notes with apprehension that his voice is softer than he’d ever heard it be. Jack’s usual booming loud words are replaced with a soft edge, maybe even a tender one. Might be the red wine, or it might just be the subject at hand.

“—Ralph loves it. He never ceases to talk about the beauty of the Garden, he could talk about the color of those lilies for days and he would still find them amazing.” Simon smiles in the dark, for Jack could talk about his step son for days and still find him amazing as well. His knowing smile goes unnoticed by the King, whose gaze is lost somewhere near the labyrinth of luxurious plants.

“Gods, this, this wretched party I’ve organized for him… never seen him so happy about something. He thanked me for it about ten times, just tonight. Not to mention the other times, after I’ve told him. He thanks me every time he sees me. You should’ve seen the sheer joy in his eyes. His marvelous eyes. Green like…like fucking summertime. Grey like a goddamned summer storm. He’s got such a temper. “

Simon lets the King tell him all this, an amalgam of hidden thoughts revealed by the alcohol. He realizes the true extent of Jack’s affection for the boy. His heart might’ve broken a little, for he also knows that the boy is too young. That he may not even reciprocate Jack’s feelings. And he also knows the King holds himself back carefully. For the first time in his life, Jack can’t wholly have something. Simon gets the impression, watching the sadness in his sharp blue gaze and the clench of his fist, that Jack is aware of all this as well. For the first time in his life, Jack isn’t greedy. He _can’t_ be. Simon wished he could help somehow.

Jack gives the glass away to a servant when they make it back inside. He drinks some water next, hoping to wash away the slight dizziness provided by the wine, for at midnight, he’s holding a speech in Ralph’s honor. Simon leaves his side, heading to a group of friends.

Jack makes his way to the place where Ralph is sitting, a glass of white wine in his hand as a fat noble congratulates him. The red haired King isn’t really pleased to see the Heir’s cheeks flushing as the man compliments him. His previously pleased expression turns sour and he reminds himself that the blush on the blond boy’s face is caused by the wine that he surely had had a lot of, through the course of the evening.

Sure, the prince is allowed to drink a glass of wine or two during dinner, any time he wishes, but he’s sure that Ralph had taken the liberty of trying every kind of fancy alcohol stored in the castle’s cellar that Jack had ordered to be brought to the celebration.

“Ah!” Ralph exclaims with delight, waving, calling Jack to him. The redhead heads towards them and grins at the excitement splayed across Ralph’s delicate features. Tearing his gaze away from the young prince, he throws a disdainful look towards Fatty (Jack is terribly proud of that nickname). Fatty cowers, visibly frightened by the King’s presence itself.

The King’s cold blue gaze quickly returns to the blond’s. Ralph’s crown is shining, the diamonds reflecting the golden light around the ballroom and his eyes are sparkling, alike them. Jack smirks, holding the blond close by the shoulders and shares an intense gaze with the shorter boy. Ralph gasps a little as if remembering something, breaks the eye contact, and needlessly introduces Jack to Fatty.

“Sir, this is the King, Jack William the 2nd of the Merridew dynasty, ruler of the Great Kingdom of Aegiria and Governor of the Republic of Lorta.” He doesn’t know why Ralph feels the need to say his full title.

“Thank you, Ralph, but this was quite unnecessary. Everybody in this room knows who I am, I assure you of that.” He’s still smirking and Fatty quickly becomes the third wheel of this conversation. For all Jack is concerned, Fatty is already excused and should have left two minutes ago. However, the red haired man can feel the other watching them closely, almost criticizing the way Ralph turns in his hold and glances with all the admiration in the world at the King, almost falling over himself in the process.

“Well,” Ralph smiles sweetly and Jack almost croons at the sight, but stops himself just in time. “You know how you always introduce me by my full title? I wanted to repay the favor, naturally. This was my only chance, I feared!” Jack indulges him, smirk softening and eyes losing the jealous edge they held earlier.

“Anyway, it is such a long title, I almost twisted my tongue.” Jack hears the few otherwise suggestive words and—and the innocence of Ralph’s tone, Ralph is _young_ , _Ralph is young._ To take his mind off of it, he reminds himself that Fatty is _still fucking there_ , can’t he take a _hint_? He’s pretty sure their body language expressed that a long while ago, what with the two royals facing each other and Fatty hanging out on the side.

“You’re excused.” Jack drawls with boredom and watches with satisfaction the way Fatty’s shoulders slump and he walks away, not looking back. His attention is now undividedly offered to the almost sixteen year old who is still smiling dazedly.

Ralph’s exasperated sigh is close to his left side, where the blond is tucked under his arm. “Oh, Gods, I’m so glad you made him leave, oh… Did you know him?” Is his arm too heavy? He should ask him that sometime.

“Daddy?” He suddenly whirls his head to face Ralph, thinking he’d heard wrong. So, so wrong rolling off the boy’s tongue, but so sinfully right to his own ears. He wants to sob at Ralph’s innocence, but he’s still so painfully aware he would never strip him of it. Never.

“Hmm?” He fakes disinterest. “No, no… I don’t even know who fucking invited him here.” He bitingly says the last part and smirks at the way Ralph laughs a little at his words. It’s a well-known thing it amuses the blond greatly, the way Jack doesn’t give a shit about the etiquette he’s been taught during his younger years. “Oh, so it won’t bother you…”

“What wouldn’t bother me?” He asks quickly, fearing irrationally. What did Ralph do, that had to do with Fatty and that Jack wouldn’t—

‘’Oh, it’s just, I kind of had this nickname in my mind while he kept talking. He told me his name, I guess, but I didn’t care enough to memorize it so I just…” He suddenly grips Jack’s shoulder, which is adorned with epaulettes and tugs him gently to his height to whisper in his ear. Jack knows that Ralph could shout it out loud and nobody would dare comment on it, given his status, and Ralph probably knows that too, but he still obliges, if only to torture himself feeling Ralph’s hot whisper on his skin. “I called him Piggy.” Jack laughs at the mean edge of Ralph’s words and becomes aware of the fact that the blond’s arm, the one that didn’t grab his shoulder, is now shyly resting around Jack’s waist. The redhead thinks Ralph looks stunning in his turquoise uniform, with golden embroidery and silver buttons. It suits him. He’s ordered it for him a while back and let Ralph decide the color. The blond had said that it was his absolute favorite shade of blue, and was very picky about the exact color of the material used. 

“Say, Ralph”, he purrs, walking on a dangerous line. “How many glasses of wine have you had already?” His voice is low, smirk still in place. Jack tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want everybody to hear their conversation.

“Not too many, I promise.” The blond smiles coyly at him. Jack’s eyes widen and he has to distract himself quickly. He grabs everyone’s attention and begins the speech.

The Queen hangs back, far away from the place at which Jack is praising the prince, the hand around his shoulders squeezing reassuringly as Ralph glances at the cheering crowd, a little shyly but holding himself very well.  “Don’t worry, Ralph, they’re all harmless fools.” He grins while whispering those words in the blond’s ear. He feels like he’s imagined the slight shiver that passes through the boy at his proximity.

At the end of the speech, when the group of nobles shouts in excitement, congratulating the prince and singing the mandatory anniversary song, orchestra included, Ralph stands on his tip toes and Jack clearly hears those next words that would torture him nights to come:

“Thank you so much, Daddy. It’s the best present ever.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has less Jalph action, but it instead focuses more on Ralph's past and on his feelings for Jack. The chapter happens sometime in November, during Jack's birthday. I headcanon him as a scorpio, I can't help it! Umm, well I think this is all you need to know about this chapter, I know this is probably a little more description-focused that the first one, but bear with me because there is going to be more actual Jalph in the upcoming chapters.

It is November. Despite the biting cold, nobility and gentry alike have gathered from across the whole kingdom, and even from allied countries, to celebrate another royal birthday, with admittedly more importance than the one held in August at the residence, for Ralph.

Guards were stuck like unmovable granite boulders in strategically chosen places, near the wide doors, near the throne, near the ballroom, near the tables, and they were especially placed near _the King_ , Ralph could tell that from miles away. Of course, ensuring the King’s safety is essential, but that doesn’t mean Ralph had to be ecstatic about it.

He can’t catch a single moment alone with Jack without being worried about a masked soldier overhearing every single word coming out of their mouths. It’s not even as if they share confidential details with each other or have anything to hide; far from it. But still, Ralph can’t shake the uneasiness that comes with seeing those impassable hidden faces of the guards.

It doesn’t help that his mother is sitting there, at Jack’s arm, doing her best to appear remotely accustomed to the fact she’s the center of attention, receiving looks from every single person in the ballroom. Ralph watches from afar, barely containing his exasperated sighs as his mother smiles uneasily. If she’s going to be the highlight of the evening for another hour or two, the prince is pretty sure she’s likely going to lose consciousness or have a seizure. He’s stuck seeing the royal couple congratulated by everyone else, while he hangs back, having his own personal set of guards trailing behind his feet, in coordinated precision.

He scoffs internally, watching the Queen’s exquisite crown catching the light in a thousand different ways. It’s a beautiful combination, he thinks, that of the blinding diamonds and the luscious blond of her hair. But he knows it’s as fake as it gets. Her hair is usually devoid of shine, thin and quite dry. But tonight, the maids have fussed, trying to make it as healthy and soft looking as possible, puffing it up and washing it with fine balms.  Her hold on the King’s arm is ginger, careful, and it makes Ralph sick.

This woman, whom people dare call his _mother_ , has everything he’s desired for the past year. _He_ should be the one who holds the King’s hand, who receives praise and whose looks and youth are complimented. She doesn’t even _want_ to be here, how is this fair? If _he_ would have been blessed enough to be in her position, he would have _smiled_ with all the joy in the world, he would have made the King happy, he would have never left his side, unlike this woman who continuously sought solace from the world’s eyes and who hid in her chambers, behind faithful maids.

How dare she accept compliments on the way she’s raised Ralph? He’d heard the servants back home, heard their whispers when they’ve thought he was too young to understand what they meant. He’d heard clearly enough that the woman couldn’t even _bear_ to look at him, let alone _love_ him, as a mother should. Her hands shook when she tried to hold him as a newborn and the maids had been afraid that she had intended to drop him onto the marble floor. She cried and wailed and even attempted to end the both of them while he was still in her womb. When he grew up, she barely _spoke_ to him, avoided as much as possible contact with him and he saw her eyes cry tears of anger and frustration when someone dared remind her how she should be treating _her own_ _son_.

Some people tried to excuse her, subtly letting Ralph know that he was unwanted and an accident, in the process. Some pitied her, saying she’s been forced into this by his father, that he’d imposed his will onto her.

Ralph did none of those. He avoided her as much as she did him and began resenting her as soon as he was old enough to understand the past. He rolled his eyes one last time at the royal couple and left to find someone to talk to, someone who wasn’t captivated by his mother in a maroon dress.

Another hour and a half passed that way, with various members of high ranks of society coming and going, with Jack keeping his usual haughty smirk etched onto his sharp features and the Queen pursing her lips in half a smile, half a grimace, while visibly being on edge. Jack barely had time to breathe a little as every couple made their way towards them once they’d entered the room, to wish him many years of reign to come and to congratulate him on his marvelous choice of a wife. Marvelous his ass.

He barely knew anything about this woman, besides her age and the fact she preferred the cool shade of willow trees. His mind shifted occasionally to Ralph, when his eyes couldn’t find him through the crowd. He’s lost him sometime after the first dozen guests he’s talked with. Jack’s pale gaze scrutinized the golden room, looking for hair the same color of the lights. His ears carefully tuned out the repetitive speech of every single noble, trying to distinguish through the tumultuous noise of the crowd the sassy edge of the voice of the prince.

He had had no luck so far. He nodded along, complimenting his guests, when he felt like it. His lips had enough of kissing the satin of expensive gloves and his right palm despised holding the five seconds handshakes. Jack endured it all, somehow, while simultaneously hoping Fatty hadn’t found Ralph again.

He was acutely aware of the guards seated carefully behind him, on both sides, aware of the grating voices of old duchesses, aware of the soft weight of the Queen’s lace covered arm on his left. He was also aware of eyes staring between his shoulder blades and he hoped they belonged to certain green eyed beautiful princes, with plump smiling mouths and frames clad in blue tailored suits. _Where was Ralph?_

………………………………………..

Simon was quietly observing the couple as well, noting the obvious tension between the two of them, the subtle clench of Jack’s fist, the ruffle of the Queen’s gown, which followed her movements closely. He shifted his eyes, finding the third member of the royal family, the sixteen year old who pretended to be deeply captivated by the conversation he held with a pair of identical twins, younger than him, by the looks of it. He wasn’t doing that great of a job at feigning disinterest in the King and Queen’s whereabouts, it seemed. Or maybe Simon just did a remarkable job at seeing people’s real concerns and feelings.

Every once in a while, Ralph would subtly cast a glance over his shoulder, towards the center of the room, where the King was deep in conversation with a dark haired officer whom he recognized as being Roger. The young prince was never fully turned with his back towards the couple, always leaving his field of vision open.

Another hour passed. The tension between them was rising exponentially, Simon noted. The time for the dance was approaching rapidly, and Simon thinks he’d better head towards the prince and… he doesn’t know exactly what he should do. What could he tell the young Heir, without it seeming out of place? It didn’t look as though Ralph knew what was about to happen. He crossed the wide room over to the blonde, and prepared to open his mouth and address the teenager, when a mix of a black and white uniform appears in his peripheral gaze. Roger.

“Your Royal Highness.” He says monotonously and slightly bows. “Simon.” He acknowledges. It seems he’s in a hurry, for some reason.

“The King requests the Heir’s presence. You may come as well.” He informs them and then turns around, visibly expecting to be followed. Simon looks at Ralph through the corner of his eyes, but the blonde seems too pleased by the King’s order to notice anything else around him. Ralph trails behind Roger eagerly, his former cheerfulness returning. They’re at the King’s side in a matter of seconds. The prince, of course, ends up _coincidentally_ on the other side of Jack, opposite the Queen.

“Gentlemen,” Jack begins, with pride sewn through his words and new found vigor.

“This is Ralph, my Heir.” Ralph doesn’t miss the ‘my’ which replaced the usual ‘the’, and it seems like that detail didn’t escape the nobles either. Well, it certainly didn’t fool Simon, that’s for sure.

Jack continues, unfazed by his own choice of words. “Ralph, those are Maurice”, he gestures towards a tall man with a mop of hair the color of chocolate, who throws Ralph a playful quirk of lips.

“—and this is Roger. Very dedicated military officers and also members of the Council. Simon, I presume, you’ve already met before.”

“Yes, I did. Pleasure to meet you, gentlemen. It’s an honor!” Ralph shakes both of their hands and flashes his perfected dashing smile. They’re obviously close friends of the King’s, and he’s hoping he made a good impression on them.

“Ha! The pleasure is ours, my prince.” Maurice takes a bow. Ralph feels his cheeks getting warmer.

“So, you’re the famous young man we’ve heard _so much_ about. Our King, here,” Maurice casts a faux accusatory glance at Jack, who in turn raises his eyebrows in a defiant way. “--simply cannot stop talking about you. He’s told us so much---“

Maurice stops suddenly, after a quick exchange of looks from Roger. Ralph’s cheeks are impossibly flushed after this new discovery, that of Jack having spoken highly of him to his closest friends.

“Oh.” Is all Ralph can say momentarily, not trusting his voice.

“And yet,” Maurice continues, words threatening to spill out of his mouth like water out of a broken dam. “It seems like the rumors haven’t lied about you. You’re truly stunning, I’m afraid.”

Simon sighs inwardly.

“You’re giving us all a run for our money, my prince.” He jokes.

“ _But_. I am quite worried that your future half-brother shall surpass you, given his ancestry. He might give _you_ a run for _your throne_. Isn’t that right, my King? With the Queen’s looks and the King’s bravery and boldness…” Maurice taunts, looking at Ralph with what seems like mockery in the prince’s mind.

“Honestly, that might just be disastrous for the Heir, wouldn’t you all agree?” Maurice laughs, though everybody else awaits a reaction out of the royals. Out of _any_ one of them.

Ralph gritted his teeth, reminding himself to cool his temper and not say anything he would definitely regret later. He was aware of the fact that he didn’t actually have any reason to seem displeased, in the eyes of everybody else. His mother married the King and, naturally, an offspring was expected to come out of this marriage.

Before anyone had a chance of reacting to the words of Maurice, Simon felt an immense relief at the announcement that the Waltz of the Couples was about to begin. The violins started singing a pleasing, romance-laced tune, and couples gathered in the middle of the ballroom. Jack made his way towards the center of the pairs, with the Queen on his arm. Simon could see the stiffness in his shoulders.

Ralph, in turn, watched the whole thing, thinking he’d be sick any second to come. He couldn’t stop himself from staring with fascination at the red haired man, who danced swiftly and graciously. He admired Jack’s burgundy suit, with various golden medals and other decorations on it. He stared at his wide shoulders and marveled at the way his powerful arms could be noticed even through the sleeves. Ralph had never been so hypnotized by someone in his entire life, and the urge to be held in that strong embrace had never been so intense. How could someone be so feared and hated by others, act so malicious towards some and yet be nothing else but well-mannered and thoughtful to Ralph?

Roger quickly left, taking Maurice with him, but not before Ralph could hear a muttered: _“When you **talk** , do you ever even **think** about the shit that’s flowing past your tongue?”_

The party had ended a few hours back, and everyone was back to their own bedrooms, leaving servants to clean up the halls. Of course, no one knew why that talk just before the Waltz had upset Ralph so greatly. No one knew how he ached to be the one held by the King, the one to share his chambers, the one to sit on the throne next to him. The one to be intimately cherished by Jack. He treasured the affection the King showed him, he adored the gifts he was given, the praise he received and he strived to make Jack as proud as possible. He loved all this, but he couldn’t help but desire _more_. _More, more, more. He wanted Jack all to himself._

His mother had taken so much already from him, Ralph bitterly thought in the black of the night. He couldn’t possibly bear to watch the man who had poisoned his thoughts since the first day they'd met, who plagued his mind constantly and who became a most essential piece of Ralph’s life… have a child with his own mother. The mother who **hated** him.

He wouldn’t be able to sit at the table with his future brother. He couldn’t imagine that boy becoming more important to Jack than Ralph himself… Couldn’t imagine Jack treating him like the light of his world and he certainly couldn’t fathom the little prince, the real prince, with true royal blood, replacing him in Jack’s heart. That night Ralph vowed to himself, in the darkness of his room, that he’d rather _die_ than watch that happen.

If anyone had been inside the room, they would’ve heard painful wails tearing through the soft pillows, and shattered breath coming out of bitten lips. They would’ve heard screams and would’ve felt the hot tears staining the Heir’s cheeks and the sheets. They would’ve seen Ralph tremble with overflowing despair and anger.

Outside of the room, nothing but broken whimpers could be heard, if you strained your ears and listened really carefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know things seem dark right now but I promise it will all get better! Leave a comment if you've enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fanfiction, besides the Queen. Everything else belongs to William Golding, bless his soul!  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter! Comment below if you like it!

The room in which the Council held its meetings was located in the West side of the castle and it faced the Garden in which Ralph loved to spend his days. However, they were on the second floor and the dark crimson curtains were always draped over the tall windows, ensuring no light came in, and so, unfortunately, Jack couldn’t watch his beloved Ralph staring at the sun all day long on the grass, no matter how much he wanted to. Today though, Ralph attended the meeting by his side, for the first time. The dimly lit walls, which were covered in maps, were currently the objects of Ralph’s attention, as he awaited Jack’s arrival. He felt a little out of place between all those strangers, who were being extra careful with what they said around the Heir, it seemed.

  The whole room would have been pitch black if it weren’t for the golden light of the candles, which cast a mysterious aura around the room, making it suitable for the matters discussed inside of it. In the center of the room, there was a round immense table made out of polished wood, with an impressive detailed map of the kingdom and its neighbors, mountains and lakes and hills carefully carved into it. Around the table, there were seated the fifteen members of the Council, with Jack’s own throne along with the Queen’s facing the entrance into the War Room.

The slightly nervous mutters that were exchanged between the advisors suddenly came to an abrupt stop when the King entered and made his way to the bejeweled throne, while every single one of the men in the Council sat up and bowed, saluting Jack simultaneously. Ralph stood by Jack’s side, the latter seemingly distracted. The King gestured vaguely towards the only empty seat at the table, which Ralph was pretty sure was supposed to be his mother’s seat. Something told him it was terribly inappropriate to sit there, but another instinct told Ralph that Jack didn’t have enough patience to deal with this right now. After a four seconds internal battle in his mind, Ralph decided to make the best of the situation. Indeed, it wasn’t everyday he got the chance to see how it was like to sit at Jack’s side, to see his own most hidden wish come true, even if it wasn’t one hundred percent real. He took the seat, trying to ignore the disapproving looks he got from a few Council members. The cool throne left him filled with a strangely pleasing feeling and a wave of calm washed over him.

After everyone was seated again, a single person remained up to his feet, a stack of papers in his hands. He was clutching the papers anxiously, awaiting the King’s approval, so he could begin talking. When he got a short nod from Jack, he cleared his throat and began:

“Your Majesty, at the last meeting, you asked of us that we cast a vote, on the possibility of a future attack on our eastern neighbor, the Republic…of Evrem.” It was obvious he didn’t want to be the one disrupting the tense silence that had conquered the room, but was trying his best to reign in his emotions and keep a collected attitude.

Jack’s interest, which he lacked previously, suddenly made an appearance in his visage.

“And? Well? Did you vote already?” He inquired, visibly expecting a favorable answer. He was getting tired of fancy parties, even though he enjoyed all the attention he received and liked to flaunt his wealth and status to everybody who was willing to attend the celebrations. The redhead was itching to start another war.

“I’m waiting.” He punctuated, raising one arched eyebrow questioningly. No one dared meet the chilling gaze: it was painfully clear that the outcome of the vote didn’t go according to Merridew’s expectations.

“Tell. Me.” He demanded again, irritation already slipping through his words.

The advisor was still standing, but no one doubted that his knees were probably shaking a little, even if nobody could notice.

“Out of the fifteen members of the Council… 8 voted against. And that means, and I apologize for being the bearer of the bad news, well that means---“

“I know what it means, I am aware of the voting procedure.” Jack gritted out, his indignation almost palpable. The desire to snap the necks of everyone in the Council, especially the one of the speaker, was unrelenting. He could hear blood rushing inside his veins, carrying the harsh feeling of deceit. His face was unsettlingly devoid of emotion. Ralph could feel the tension woven in the air, like a thick blanket of wool.

“Who voted against?”

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid that’s confidential—“

“That’s also tragic, because I want to know, and I want to know now. So, tell me.” Ralph shifted in his ‘borrowed’ seat.

“My King, your request—“

“Demand.” Jack interrupted coldly.

“We cannot divulge the de—“

“Allow me to rephrase it. This is an order. I order you. I’m not asking, I’m not inquiring, and I’m definitely not requesting. I. Demand.” Ralph was shocked. He had never seen this forceful side of Jack and felt ashamed, not knowing if he should be scared of him or drawn to him even more.

Roger stood up and all eyes fell on him, including Jack’s icy stare.

“If I may, my King. You might find my knowledge on this matter useful.”

“It better be.” Jack snarled.

“There are a few nobles…outside of this circle, who are not content with your intention of declaring war.”

“Which nobles.” Jack hissed, eyes wide with fury. Ralph could only hear and see, his mind seemingly frozen.

“Quite wealthy ones. I heard but—then again, this… is just a rumor,” Jack didn’t interrupt this time, awaiting the reveal.

“—that they bought the vote of a few members of this Council, right here, to ensure that you won’t be able to start another war.”

“Really?” This single word, spoken by the red haired man with wild blue eyes, in an oddly childlike voice, was enough to frighten the advisors even more. “Well, I’m...I’m shocked.” He deadpanned, then continued with a sour expression. “What’s next, pouring poison in my whiskey? Dropping a crystal chandelier on me? Or even better, trying some sort of blackmailing on me?” He chuckled with no humor. “Hah. That’s amusing, to say the least. And terribly, terribly stupid. You shall pay for this treason, mark my words.” Ralph shivered and discovered that he didn’t know, or rather didn’t want to admit it to himself, the reason why.

No one dared to say anything after the dark promise of the King. They just stared emptily at the river-lines and city dots carved into the wood of the table, hoping to make it out of the room alive.

“Tomorrow, I demand that each and every single one of you will stand right in this room, right at this hour, no exceptions. Those who will not obey this direct order shall be hunted down and be punished with death. And rest assured. I will find you, wherever you may hide. Dismissed.”

All of the advisors scurried out of the room like startled animals, their footsteps echoing down the halls of the castle. However, no words were heard. Fear prevented every single one of them from uttering a word. Ralph stood to Jack’s right, not knowing if he should go as well or wait for the red haired man. When Jack didn’t comment on the blond being there, the prince just assumed he could stay.

Roger remained behind, along with Maurice. Jack stalked up to them, while the Heir followed closely.

“Well?” He demanded.

“Your Majesty, we know who the noble is. We didn’t want to say anything during the meeting but—“

 Maurice started but was promptly interrupted.

“Damn it, tell me!”

“It’s that Lord with the mansion on the west side of the river crossing the Capital.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Roger? I don’t know the residence of every single fucking rich shit in this country.”

“The fat one. With the golden framed round glasses. Who looks like a bloated—“

  
“ Pig. Like a bloated pig.” Jack spit out, the identity of the traitorous noble dawning on him. It felt like the harsh slap of a hand. Ralph widened his eyes as he, too, connected the dots.

“Yes, how did you know?”

Fatty. Fucking Fatty. The stupid shithead that was talking to Ralph that night, probably trying to persuade him into joining his stupid 'rebellion' against the King. Against Jack himself. That fat. Worthless. Imbecilic. Pig. Piggy. Jack’s head was pounding with lust for revenge and his thoughts were intoxicated with rage. However, his features maintained a mask of impassibility, painted onto his face with the pallor of whitened bones, gnawed by wild animals. It was a stark contrast to his blood red hair.

“What should we do about him?”

“Take a fucking guess. He shall disappear, of course. Roger. Maurice. I know I can count on you. You’ve been my most loyal for years. I know that you’ll do this for me. He has to be eliminated. As soon as possible.” Jack’s mouth was set into a deep scowl, the murderous resolution etched into his tight jaw and narrowed eyes.

“We’ll make it seem like an accident. It shall be done by the end of this week, my King, do not worry.” Roger confirmed with a low voice, eyes hooded by pitch black hair.

“Very well. Don’t disappoint me.” Those were Jack’s last words, as he exited the room, a shock of crimson hair and auburn cape.

 “I’ll see you at dinner.” Jack uttered in the hallway.  It was enough for Ralph to get the hint that the King wanted to be alone, so he went a separate way.

As they both entered their own quarters, different thoughts ran through their minds.

“What's this side of Jack? I’ve never seen it before.”

“What if Fatty corrupted Ralph? What if Ralph is already working with him?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up by next week, most probably this weekend. Thank you so much for your support! Leave a comment and tell me what you think. Kisses


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is the fourth chapter, right here! I'll be posting once a week because my time schedule is fucked up right now, I just thought about warning you all. I guess that's everything that has to be said. Oh and!  
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, all the characters belong to William Golding.

The throne room was dark, a heavy heat lay in the thickness of the air.

“It’s done, your Majesty.”

From the edge of the silver throne, Merridew’s eyes glinted in wicked delight. His steel gaze was sharp in contrast to the smoky blackness of the room.

“Is it really?” He asked, a satisfied smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yes.”

“How did you do it?” The King wondered in morbid curiosity, asking for the gruesome details of the murder, an inexplicable jubilance in his voice.

“He was climbing down the stairs of his house, heading for his study. My best guess is that his foot must’ve somehow tripped onto something. He fell down the whole staircase. His neck broke. Died instantly.” Roger explained with a clear expression, complete serenity written on his visage.

“Poor little Piggy. Truly tragic.” Jack tutted, shaking his head. “Damn the dark, I assume he didn’t see where he stepped. Did no one notice this whole ordeal?”

“Only late in the morning. But no one could do anything, he’d been dead for over ten hours at that moment. It should be out and heard about in a day or two.”

Jack faked being pensive for a second.

“Truly a shame no one was there to help, isn’t it, Roger? Maybe he would’ve…stood a chance.” He leered.

”Yes, it’s quite unfortunate, indeed.” Roger played along.

“But.”

Jack’s expression changed, not having expected that word from Roger.

“But what?” He inquired, wondering what the hell could’ve happened.

“I had a chance to look through his study, whatever it was he was going to retrieve from there before he died must’ve been of utmost importance, so I checked it out. He was elaborating a paper on you, my King.” Roger explained, peering at Jack from under thick hair as black as ink.

“Me?” At this point, Jack was genuinely shocked. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He was planning to make copies of this document and spread them across the country, getting people to side with him and…possibly overthrow you.” He explained.

“Did you read them?” Jack asked, his voice raising.

“Yes.”

“And what did they say?” He demanded, his grip on the throne tightening and knuckles turning white.

“Amongst the arguments against you, there were mentioned, and I quote ‘extreme and unnecessary bloodlust, desire for starting conflicts, combined with a series of traits which suggest the autocratic rule of this kingdom’. And lastly, but nonetheless important, was the implication that you have had and still have an incestuous affair with your step son. Also, child abuse/molestation.”

“What?” Jack screamed, face pale. If he wasn’t Jack Merridew, he might’ve even stuttered because of the sheer shock. “So what, now I raped Ralph? The nerve of this shit.”

Roger thought that he’d best not mention how…unusual the whole thing seemed. He also deducted that it wasn’t the greatest idea to remind Jack how the blond sometimes kissed the King’s cheek, his kisses getting lower and closer to the mouth every time he’d thank him for something. Or how Jack’s eyes would wander a little suggestively over the sixteen year old whenever he was getting measured for new suits. Or how Jack bought far more things for the prince than he did for the Queen, whom he supposedly had to have a child with…sometime in the future? By the way things were going, it likely won’t happen. Hell, Ralph still fucking called Jack ‘ _Daddy_ ’, even though he was _way_ past the age when he _didn’t_ know of the other connotations and uses of the word, and Jack wasn’t even his _real_ dad. Seriously, the kid turned seventeen in four months, there was no freaking way he wasn’t aware of what he was doing and saying.

“We have to get rid of the papers.” Jack’s command broke his train of thoughts and he nodded.

“Maurice already burned the document. We searched through his house. Any other copy of this manuscript was destroyed.”

Roger could clearly see the ease on the King’s face and hear his relieved sigh. In the days that had followed the revealing of the vote, Jack had looked more into the past of this fat noble that he’d ordered to be assassinated and whose lifeless body now laid on the floor of his mansion. He discovered a lot of unexpected things. One, Piggy was actually named something besides the attributed nickname of Fatty. Peter. Or was it Paul? Perry? Whatever, Jack couldn’t be bothered to remember it. Two, he’d previously worked in the castle, he occupied some kind of administrative post, concerned with passing over the decrees of the King to other institutions. Three, which was the strongest blow Jack had received that week: he’d applied as a possible _tutor_ for Ralph, on the subjects of social studies and history. He didn’t get the job, but the simple fact that he’d been **_this_** close corrupting his precious Ralph and turning him against Jack, right under his eyes… It drove the redhead mad.

“Good. That’s good. You and Maurice will be rewarded for this. Good night.”

“Good night, your Majesty.” Roger bowed and left, and even though he knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep anymore at three in the morning, he knew the King was probably gone to the land of sweet dreams by the time the black haired man even arrived home. The King must’ve been content now that an obstacle and a potential danger to his position was out of the way.

 

 

 

Ralph was the living picture of the angelic grace they spoke about in the choir songs he used to sing when he was younger. When his voice was higher and softer, fit for vocally accompanying the soothing piano that resonated each Sunday in the church near the royal court. Jack still sang from time to time, even though his voice had become rougher during the years. In this dream – Jack is aware that this is all it is, merely a dream – Ralph is in his quarters. In his bed, under his silk sheets, on his pillows, sanctifying them with his very existence, filling the atmosphere with his purity. Ralph is sleeping, face calm, no frown nor smile on his delicate features. Innocence is splashed onto his cheekbones, which have become a lot more defined in the past two years. He’s lost the traits of a child, but he kept the wonder in his eyes whenever Jack showed him something.

 And Jack feels terrible for staring at the curve of the Heir’s back when he bends over the table to peer at the ancient maps, hates waking up with feverish heat in his groin and sweat on his forehead from countless dreams in which Ralph writhes under him, where Jack breaks him apart and pieces him back together. He hates it, because he’s had a myriad of lovers, both male and female, over the years—heck he still has them even now, occasionally, but he’s never had regrets about it.

He’s never felt despicable for dreaming of fucking someone. And worst of all, he’s never dreamed of domesticity, of simply laying in bed with someone and caressing their face, of traveling all over his kingdom with them and seeing their eyes light up at the sights. He’s never dreamed of someone threading hands through his hair and wrapping their arms around him. It disgusted him. It disgusted him how dependent of Ralph’s attention he’s become, how he could never deny him anything, how excited he’d feel spending time with someone who was his own step son. Someone who society could never allow him to be with. Jack was deprived of Ralph by moral laws, how stupid.

And as immoral as Jack was, he’s still going to wait until Ralph is an adult, only then would he try anything and hope for the best. What ate the redhead inside, was the realization that he didn’t just want the blond for a few nights, he didn’t want him to be just another person he’s fucked, dumped and gotten over. He needed Ralph by his side. He wanted to wake up every morning to that face that he’s presently dreaming about. He’d even make Ralph his official consort, if it was allowed. Gods, how beautiful the blond was, golden locks slightly splayed around his head, on the pillowcase, plump lips which were slightly parted by a soft, tranquil breath. Jack succumbed deeper into his sleep, into his desires, and allowed himself to break apart the prince once again, to wake him up and kiss his lips raw one more time, in a display of fierce possessiveness and lust. And man, did he miss hearing dream-Ralph’s desperate moans.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Next chapter will be up next weekend. Leave a comment and tell me what you think. Kisses!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been long enough since I've published the last chapter, because school has killed me. Buuuut, here you have the fifth chapter, so...enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except the Queen's character. Everything else belongs to William Golding, bless his soul.

 

48 hours have passed since Piggy's death.

Ralph had heard the news of Peter Hastings' death in the morning, during the Council. A great deal of its members had been fired and replaced, after supposedly having voted against a war because of Piggy’s bribing. His death was mentioned briefly and, even though everyone seemed surprised, Ralph knew the truth behind it: Jack had ordered to have him murdered.

The doctors claimed he had a stroke because of his precarious health and lost consciousness—therefore falling down the stairs. They were quite far from the real events. It felt strange to Ralph: he’d heard of nobles dying before, but he hadn’t met them previously. Sure, his interactions with Piggy hadn’t stretched past the usual greeting and “Happy birthday!”, but it was still a weird feeling. Ralph lost track of his surroundings and succumbed to the memory of the night of his 16th birthday.

 

 

_He had been sitting on a stone bench with rough carvings on it, in a small balcony. Around him, the smell of honeysuckle pierced the night air. The golden lighting of the ballroom barely reached him, and he had to strain his eyes to read the writing on the pages. Those pages belonged to his diary, which was so very different from other diaries: the pages alternated with those of an encyclopedia about exotic plants, flowers and fruits._

_Ralph had cleverly designed it that way, so it had less chances of being discovered. After all, who would ever think his most hidden secrets laid written in between pictures of a Botany book? Who would look there? He was deep in thoughts, reading his entry from the night before for the thousandth time. He had awoken from yet another dream about Jack, the man whom he had felt an unexplainable attraction and an intense fascination for ever since the first day they’d officially met._

_Jack had been stunning that day, dressed in a military inspired suit, with rich decorations and buttons which Ralph was sure were made of actual gold. He was charming and yet, there was an underlying darkness in his gaze, and Ralph was obscenely drawn to it, like a moth to a consuming flame. After that, the nighttime became the only period of time when he could explore the possibility of a relationship with Jack, and his dreams helped him with that, offering a million different scenarios every few days._

_Ralph had decided to write them down, so he’d never forget them, so he could read them every time he felt too frustrated and fed up with Jack’s …unusual lifestyle. He knew about the countless women he slept with. He knew his mother didn’t interest Jack. He was aware that his mother was an attractive woman and he inherited her looks. If Jack wasn’t aroused by the Queen, did that mean that he didn’t find Ralph appealing in a romantic/sexual way? Did he even stand a chance? Ralph’s internal monologue was interrupted by the corpulent form of a man in his…thirties? It was hard to tell._

_He wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses and was dressed in a beige suit. He reminded the blond of his tutors, because he had an air of intellectuality about him. He was obviously a man who read a lot and who frequented high circles. He offered an unsure smile to Ralph and bowed, as much as his hefty body allowed. Ralph was suddenly aware of the book opened in his lap, its pages describing a highly pornographic sequence of events. He snapped it shut, glad that the dark masked his flushed cheeks._

_“Does Botany interest you, your Royal Highness? I thought I was the only one.” Had etiquette allowed it, Ralph would’ve screamed in frustration. Really? Out of all the people and out of all the interests of those people in the world which he could’ve met, he meets the one interested in Botany?_

_Ralph forced those thoughts aside and offered his usual charming smile. “Yes! Actually, I designed the Garden according to this book!” He desperately hoped that the man which he dubbed as Piggy would just throw a look to the plant life below them and let it slide without questioning it, but he had no such luck._

_Piggy grabbed the book from his hands, opened it and, before Ralph had the chance of expressing his indignation, started reading from a page. The Heir craned his neck, trying to see if it was one of the scientific ones or one out of his diary, but he couldn’t reach it with his eyes. He felt shame bubbling in his stomach as Piggy’s eyes widened. As soon as it came, though, the bewildered look of the fat man was replaced with a pitying gaze. Ralph stared back at the brown eyes. Piggy threw him a sorrowful glance, alike to how you watch a wounded animal drag its last breath out. It was over soon though, and Piggy gave him the book back, leading them inside the ballroom. He proceeded to act like nothing happened, but before he did that, he added:_

_“Your Highness…I can see you are deeply confused…and hurt. What you feel right now, what you’ve been through… it’s… It’s not good. What the King did to you…you are terribly young and—“_

_The noble was obviously having difficulties with finding his words and Ralph realized that he thought that Jack—That they really—_

_Despite the circumstance not being appropriate, Ralph almost felt like laughing, even though it would be a stupid thing to do. He wanted to mock Piggy and he didn’t know what to feel. It was funny that he thought those lewd things actually took place, but it was concerning that he believed Jack had forced them on Ralph. The prince also felt repulsed and wanted to berate Piggy for thinking that the King would be as cruel as to actually rape him. What he did instead, was change the subject and Piggy reluctantly followed him into a chat about the food at the banquet._

_That was how Jack had found them, that night._

Ralph was torn between guilt and relief.

Guilt, because the man took that secret with him to the grave. He was worried if this was part of the reason Jack ordered to have him killed. But he chided himself: how could the King know of that conversation? How could he know of what he wrote in neat, calligraphic letters on the small pages, the same pages Piggy had caught a glimpse of that night at his party? It was just an irrational fear of Ralph’s, it was impossible. Piggy was killed because of his political views and nothing more.

Relief-- and this ashamed the prince to no end; relief he felt because that one secret was never revealed to the world—or at least, he hoped that Piggy had never gotten the chance of telling anyone about his theory of Jack abusing him.

Gods, he hoped Piggy hadn’t told anyone. It tortured Ralph at night and he even had a few nightmares, dreaming in vivid detail about the consequences of that secret. The whispers, the shame, the sheer humiliation… When nothing ever got out, the blond assumed that the man didn’t get the chance to tell a soul about what he’d read in the Heir’s diary.

Ralph shook his head, clearing his mind.

He knew it was selfish of him to be pacified by Peter’s murder, but he could not help it. He also knew it was cruel of him to be grateful that Jack orchestrated his uncanny death. He knew it was shallow of him to not judge Jack because of his totalitarian reaction to the voting and to the following events.

He didn’t have it within himself to stop loving Jack just as devotedly as he had before. Who was more important to him? Jack, to whom he owed so much and who was the closest and dearest person in his life? Or Peter Hastings, a noble whom he met one night at a party and talked to a few minutes? The answer was obvious. So what if Jack did something deeply immoral? He didn’t actually know Piggy. What was he supposed to do? Hold the red haired man accountable for it? Judge him? And for what? A stranger’s life?

Ralph wasn’t about to throw his relationship with the redhead away just because of an obese noble’s opinion. So what if the Heir was superficial? Vain? Conceited? Dumb? So what? Jack didn’t love him less because of that. He was sure. Jack didn’t care he was arrogant. Selfish. They both were. So what if Jack had indirectly murdered that fat bastard? _So what?_ Ralph obsessively asked himself, trying to justify his lack of pain over Piggy’s death. He didn’t mourn. He didn’t give it another thought. He didn’t feel guilt and he told himself it was okay. He wasn’t about to let himself go mad over a stranger’s death. It wasn’t worth it.

 

 

 

The royal family –well, at least Ralph and Jack—was at the King’s countryside residence. They had just gotten back from riding their horses through the woods surrounding the mansion. As they made their way to one of the extravagant living rooms, which even had a lit fireplace, Ralph suggested that they wait there until the cooks invite them to dinner. They sat down on a plush couch, which was one of the most comfortable things Ralph had ever laid on – he’s sure that Jack’s bed beats it by far, but let’s not go there now.

“You know, I’m going to get a new one.” Jack commented and Ralph’s confusion didn't last long, because he directed his gaze to where Jack was looking. He noticed the richly crafted crown which was resting on the glass table, after being left there quite carelessly just before they decided to go riding. The crown was silver, with white diamonds stuck to it, which catched the light in countless different angles.

“Why?” He inquired.

 “The Kingdom expanded. It makes sense that my crown would change.” Jack explained it as if getting a new crown designed for him was the most mundane thing in existence. And Ralph supposed that, for him, it actually was. It wasn't that big of a deal to Ralph, either. If Jack wanted another crown, he could get one. He was a genius military strategist, after all, and the winning of new territory owes most of its success to the redhead's plans of action.

“This one is so beautiful, though.” Ralph observed, not being able to take his eyes away from that wondrous piece of jewelry.

“You can have it, if you want.” Jack proposed casually. Ralph turned to look at him, eyes wide and a disbelieving smile on his face.

“No way! Really?”

“Of course.” Jack confirmed calmly, and grinned a little at the excitement splashed onto Ralph’s features.

“This is so amazing! I don’t know how to thank you!” _Jack could think of a few ways._

“It can be my present for your 17th birthday.” Ralph smiled even wider than before.

“Well, one of them.” Jack had added and they both laughed.

 

 

Ralph’s crown is now bigger than the Queen’s, since it used to belong to the King. However, it doesn’t outshine Jack’s new opulent crown, which is made of white gold and has red beryls and normal, as well as red diamonds on it. It’s stunning and Ralph could stare at those crowns for ages without getting bored.

If any of the nobles sees something weird in how the prince’s crown is more ostentatious than the Queen’s, they don’t mention it.

 

 

 

 

Ralph was having lunch with the Queen. For the first time in a …what was it? Maybe months. This ordeal didn’t usually happen and, from Ralph’s experience, it meant the Queen had to tell him something. But what was it? He watched her from across the table, as she carefully cut a vegetable and chewed it, deep in her own swirling pools of jumbled thoughts. Ralph felt anxious and couldn’t wait for this to be over. He cleared his throat and spoke up:

“Mother. I feel like you have something to…discuss with me?” He inquired with slight disinterest. Whatever the Queen had to tell him, he was sure it was probably boring and unrelated to anything concerning Ralph. And the only thing he actually had in common with his mother was, coincidentally…Jack. So, it was either related to the King, or it had no relation to life at the Court.

Ralph fiddled with his salad and waited. He wasn’t nervous because of the words which were about to come out of his mother’s mouth. He had no worries about that. It was just that the Queen’s presence made him uneasy. Kept him on the edge of his seat. He knew his mother wasn’t, in any way, a threatening or a malicious person. But their past together was riddled with tension and resentment. He couldn’t get over his own anger at her. And she couldn’t love him like a mother should. It was as simple and yet as complicated as it came.

He kept his gaze glued to his plate as her thin voice danced through the air to his ears. His mother had a pleasing voice, but instead of soothing him, it unnerved him in the strangest of ways.

“Ralph, you are past the age of seventeen.” Oh, so she bothered to remember his age? Ralph bit back the crude remark and didn’t say anything, expecting her to continue, which she did.

“I’m…concerned—“

He noted that she chose this word carefully and almost scoffed. Oh yeah, he was sure she was so concerned she might have burst.

“—because, as you most surely noticed, you are a handsome boy. Don’t you feel that it’s time to find yourself a…girlfriend?” _‘No, I don’t. Because I’m gay as hell for your husband. I desperately want to shag my own step dad, mother’._ Ralph almost chuckled.

He glanced at her brows, which were creased and stared back into her pale green eyes, which looked like a dusty, washed out version of his own. He cleared his throat and thought of a few sassy comebacks. He instead decided on simply replying with an ‘I don’t think so.’ However, when it came down to actually saying it, he couldn’t bite his words back.

“Oh mother, it warms my heart to know you care so much about me.” His voice trembled with fake emotion. “You never did before.” He deadpanned.

“What made you have a change of heart? And why is it your concern if I have a girlfriend or not? A few years back, you didn’t even care to tell me that father _died_ on the front. I had to hear it from _a maid._ ”

“I was just saying—“

His mother’s distressed tone tried to cut through his. Ralph’s voice was stronger.

“How about I suggest it’s time you have a child with the King? See? It’s not that pleasing, being told what to do.” He struck back, with a cutting edge to his words.

His mother’s eyes filled with irritation.

“So, no, _mother_ , I am not going to get a girlfriend. And you can’t make me.” His voice held a new found authority and he got up from the table. He knew he was throwing a useless fit in the eyes of everybody else, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He left the dining room, mind racing from the verbal confrontation.

_What if Jack told her to tell him that?_

Improbable, he thought, but it still stung to even consider it. He did nevertheless. The more he thought about it, though, the possibility seemed more and more like reality. It made sense, that Jack would try to find him a girlfriend. _Since he has so many of his own_ , Ralph bitterly added, rolling his eyes. He decided to confront the older man anyway.

The blond made his way to the King’s study, where he knew that Jack was signing papers about the war which was taking place at the moment. Yes, after winning the war on Evrem a few months back, their army engaged in yet another battle for supremacy.

It was a comforting thought to Ralph, knowing most of the King’s schedule. It made him feel important. Important to Jack, especially. He shook his head, reminding himself that he should be mad at the redhead for trying to interfere with his life. He pushed the door open and stomped inside, effectively grabbing the monarch’s attention.

“Yes?” Jack carefully put his fountain pen down, next to the set of bottles filled with various colors of ink.

“How could you do it?” Ralph demanded.

“Do _what_?” Jack’s confusion was now mixed with a bit of frustration.

“You _know_ what!” Ralph huffed, crossing his arms.

“Oh, wow, Ralph. Explicitly put, as always.” He mocked, smirking at how he managed to infuriate the Heir. He found it deliciously inciting how Ralph’s temper sparked up when provoked. His cheeks would flush with indignation and his eyes would narrow, and his mouth… Oh, his mouth would spit out the snarkiest comebacks.

Ralph made his way to the elegant couch on the right side of the room and threw himself down, sprawling over it in an inviting manner. **_Not_** _the time, Jack_. Ralph groaned and raised himself up on an elbow, staring at Jack, who was still seated behind the mahogany desk, a stack of papers in his left hand. The King busied himself with anything else other than Ralph’s golden hair which had become tousled from lounging on the sofa.

“You told mother to tell me to get a girlfriend.” Ralph snapped at him. Jack was momentarily taken aback by this.

“ _What_?” He asked, not sure if he heard correctly.

“Oh, quit acting like you’re surprised.” Ralph rolled his eyes. “I’m not a child anymore. You can’t tell me what to do and what not to do. And I’m not going to do it anyway.”

 “Not even for you.” He added after a short pause.

Jack gained too much satisfaction for his own good from those last four words. He didn’t see Ralph’s pout from his seat, but he most certainly heard it.

“Forget your mother’s advice. You don’t have to get a girlfriend if you don’t want to.” He offered, trying to quell Ralph’s anger. It worked, apparently. He left out, however, the part in which he told Ralph that his extreme possessiveness would make him send this potential partner of Ralph’s to the other side of their country. His hideous jealousy prevented him from even taking the possibility of Ralph having a girlfriend into consideration.

“Good. ‘Cause it won’t happen.” Ralph concluded. Jack was immensely relieved. However, he tried not to show it.

The Heir stuck around for the rest of the day, glad to flip through the novels stacked on the shelves of Jack’s study and talk to the redhead who was finishing up on his paperwork.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the fifth chapter out of six. The last chapter will be posted tomorrow, since I have most of it planned out and even written down. Your comments give me life, guys, so leave a comment below if you've enjoyed this second to last chaper!  
> \---superficial_lagoon


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be the last chapter but I wrote so much, I felt like splitting it up in 2, and then wrote the eighth chapter, the one with the smut scene. So, yeah, this isn't the last one, you'll have to put up with this fic for two more chapters.  
> Do yourself a huge favor and listen to Colors or Young God by Halsey while reading the first part of this, you won't regret it! ^.^

Jack is planning out the next move of their southern troops. He’s sat in one of his private rooms, designed to imitate the Council Room, complete with the mapped table and walls covered in war statistics. It’s very late in the night and he just wants it to be over already. They’re _this_ close to victory. If only he could form a final strategy good enough to definitely win this battle. The enemy lines had been decimated those past few weeks and this is their last resistance.

Ralph is staring at him from the other side of the room, watching frustration rise on the King’s sharp features. He threads a hand through his blonde hair and sighs softly.

“Jack, it’s very late.”

“Well duh.” The King utters from where he’s slouched over the geopolitical map of Aliva, compass in his hand. Ralph rolls his eyes.

“All I’m saying is…it’s two in the morning, you should go to sleep.” He offers.

“If you can’t handle staying up late, go to your chambers, Ralph. I’m not keeping you here by force.” Jack grits out, scribbling something on a paper and then, unsatisfied with the result, tosses it behind himself. He’s long since taken off his cape, which lays now crumpled up next to where Ralph is lounging, on a black settee.

Ralph sighs again.

“It seems like _you_ don’t want me here.” Ralph huffs, combing through his hair again. He did that a lot tonight.

Jack looks at him for a moment, seemingly debating something inside his head, then looks down at his notes again. Ralph sighs again. He gets up from where he’s sat in the past forty five minutes and stretches. He makes his way to where Jack is ripping apart yet another piece of paper.

“I’m just trying to help. You’ll find it much easier in the morning, after you’ve slept a couple of hours and had a cup of coffee.” He suggests.

“I’ve drunk two cups already.” Jack says distractedly.

“I meant after you’ve slept, not before going to bed.” Ralph corrects, with a small fond smile which he hopes Jack doesn’t notice. Jack hums.

“Ugh. Lemme see.” Ralph gives up trying to persuade Jack to get a good night’s rest and peers at the maps, over the monarch’s right shoulder.

“The red ones are our troops?” He feels Jack’s shoulder shake with the movement of his nod.

“And the green ones are Alivians?”

“Yeah.”

“Yellow ones are neutral?”

“Pretty much. They’re leaning towards helping us, though.” Ralph feels the vibrations caused by Jack’s words through the fabric of his coat. He was almost glued to the older man’s back, trying to see as much as he can on the map. He doesn’t let it distract him. Or at least he tries to.

“Send two of your troops on yellow ground.” Ralph suggests, still staring at the countries.

“Yes but—“ Jack tries to interrupt but Ralph continues.

“Hear me out. If you corner them from behind, they’re even more vulnerable. From what I’ve heard, they’re relying on this one last battle and so far it hasn’t gone too well for them. They’ve chosen to go on the western end of their territory and that makes them sit right between our borders and yellow borders.”

“Exactly.” Jack agrees, watching the map through aching eyes.

“So, cornering the greens would leave them no choice but to either retreat to the east, where we’re already partially closing in, or fight on the southern _and_ northern fronts, where our troops already fight them. There’s virtually no escape then and they’re so few compared to us—“

“So they’ll either fight to the last breath or surrender.” Jack says, realization dawning onto his face.

“I can’t believe I haven’t figured this out earlier, I—“

“Told you, you were just tired.” Ralph smirks.

“Ralph you’re a genius. I—fuck, you’re amazing. I knew I made a great choice when I made you my Heir.”

Ralph smiles wide, thankful for the praise. He knows, however, that he has to say something, he can’t lie to Jack anymore.

“Thank you, but… I’m…not sure I want to be your Heir. I—“

The prince feels the King tense and knows he screwed up.

“What?” He hears the coldly punctuated word and forgets everything he’s planned to say.

“Um, I mean I—“

Jack turns to him, his gaze is made of slits of steel. He grabs Ralph’s chin and brings it just inches apart from his face. Ralph feels the breath leave his lungs.

“Listen here, _golden boy_. I need a Heir. I married a woman _with a kid_ who could become my Heir. You _can’t_ just _decide_ one day that you don’t want to be my successor anymore.”

Ralph opens his mouth, trying to explain the real meaning behind his words.

“That’s not how it _works_. So, you’re going to suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and do it. _Am I clear_?”

“It’s...it’s not like that.” Ralph stutters, staring in Jack’s narrowed eyes. He feels Jack’s tight grip on his jaw, powerful but yet holding back, not yet hurting Ralph.

“What is it?” Jack demands. When the red haired man doesn’t say anything else, the prince continues, managing somehow to reign in his emotions and not get too intimidated by the King’s icy gaze.

“When…when you say that—I’m your Heir it means—“

God, why is this so hard? Why can’t he just say it?

“When I really am going to have to fulfill that role…you’ll be very, very ill –or injured—or _worse_ and I…I find it really hard to think about, to even consider that you—“ Why does he feel like he’s choking on his words? Ralph swallows. He sees Jack’s glare soften and breathes out.

“Why would that be so horrible?” Jack dares to ask, a sense of hope crawling its way in his heart, feeling as ridiculous as it sounded.

Ralph feels like he’s about to break, even though Jack’s hold on his chin is soft now.

“You _know_ so well why…” He whispers in a broken voice.

Jack blinks, his hand slackens its grip and he drops it to his side. He retreats.

Ralph looks at him and doesn’t know what to make of the sudden distance between them. The air is intoxicating, he wants to get out of the room.

“You mean so _much_ to me…Jack.”

Ralph throws one last look at the King and leaves. Jack wants to call him back, to tell Ralph that he loves him so much, more than he should really, that he’s grown up and that he loves his company and his advice. He wants to tell him a million things, but all he can do is watch him go.

 

 

 

Ralph concluded there was no use crying about Jack’s mistresses. After all, they were just whores and nothing more. The King hadn’t even had anyone over in the past several months. Why, Ralph couldn’t guess. Jack, he knew now, would never prefer them to him. Ralph was aware just how attractive he’s gotten over the years. He knew he surpassed many—if not all—of Jack’s one night stands. And he started to wonder, did Jack want him as well? The dilating of his pupils when Ralph would slide in too close to him or when he’d stretch or lean down was more than an obvious sign.

Why was Jack holding back? He wasn’t a child anymore. He was over seventeen. Maybe Ralph wasn’t explicit enough? Maybe Jack didn’t get the meaning behind Ralph’s words and actions. Or maybe he refused to. Anyway, Ralph decided to be more forward. That led him to the following situation.

The sun was setting outside as Ralph wandered back into the halls of the castle. He spent his days out in the sun, when the weather was warm, and his skin had gained a golden, enticing hue, which enhanced his green eyes and his smile. He had consciously made his way to the throne room, where he knew Jack sometimes spoke to people who asked for a private talk with him. Of course, they were never peasants or other low-life citizens, they were, most of the time, other nobles.

Ralph smiled wide, thinking of what he was about to do, and felt nervousness crawl up his throat. It was too late to back out now, he told himself. He was going to do it. It was now or never. As the guards opened the huge silver doors for him, Simon was just getting out. Ralph’s smile didn’t falter and he offered a polite greeting, after Simon had done the same. They went in opposite directions and Ralph threw a look at the guards.

“Don’t bother us. Unless the castle is burning.” He internally laughed and, not waiting for a response, went inside the huge room. He heard the doors sliding closed behind him with a heavy thud. He marveled at the rich design of the painted episodes of the country’s history, which were displayed on the ceiling of the room. Beside every large window, red velvet curtains were pulled back so that sunlight could stream in. He knew that if he decided to shout, his echo would have been heard a few faint times. But now, he didn’t spend too much gawking at the opulence of the throne room. He had other things on his mind.

He stalked up to Jack, who looked at him in surprise.

“Ralph? What are you doing here? Is anything wrong?”

Ralph smiled and climbed the three stairs which led to the place where the two thrones defied the whole room. Their arrangement emanated an air of true power, because of them being by far the most expensive and carefully fabricated objects in the whole room. He tried to calm his heart which was pounding inside his chest. The prince sat on the arm of the throne, deciding to be methodic with what he was about to do. Jack raised an eyebrow at him and Ralph smiled wider.

“Nothing happened, don’t worry.” The prince reassured the redhead, touching his shoulder and squeezing it. He turned around, so his back wasn’t facing the monarch anymore. Instead, he still laid perched on the arm of the chair, but he was now face to face with the King. He leaned in and lowered his voice in what he hoped was a flirtations tone.

“I just wanted to see you.” Jack’s shoulders were tense and the blonde was sure he was aware of him inching closer to the older man.

“And why is that?” Jack smirked but his cocky attitude faltered as Ralph moved his legs so that they were now between the King’s own, splayed knees. Ralph kept his movements deliberately slow, like a panther crawling up to its prey. He hummed.

“I wanted to tell you about my day.” He decided small talk would have to distract Jack from his less innocent actions, and he continued. Jack was still visibly surprised but he didn’t question the Heir, being more than content with the blonde’s proximity.

“Do you want me to tell you about my day, or would it bore you?” Ralph asked pouting during his last words, silently begging for Jack to accept his proposition. Apparently, Jack took the bait. The red haired man flashed him a quick grin.

“Sure, Ralph.” He drawled. “Tell me about your day.” His blue eyes widened in shock as Ralph gracefully slipped from the arm of the throne onto Jack’s knee. He welcomed the heaviness of the prince’s body on his leg and felt warmth crawling over him. Jack wished that he could just ravish Ralph on the spot and punish him for his teasing, but he somehow held himself back, awaiting the Heir’s next move. Ralph opened his mouth to speak and Jack’s gaze was stuck to his full lips, captivated. Ralph began telling him about his morning, describing whatever he’d eaten for breakfast in such detail that Jack was sure he was deliberately dragging this on for as long as he could. The red haired man was only half paying attention, his left arm slowly edging along the arm of the throne so it could wrap around the blonde’s waist. When Ralph became aware of it, his smile turned wicked and Jack returned it. The prince continued, explaining how the orange juice was sweeter today than the last days and how the coffee was bitter and how he could not understand why Jack drank it that way. The older man roamed his gaze over the turquoise attire of the Heir, depraved thoughts already slithering into his mind.

“Are you paying attention, Daddy?” There it was, that damned word again. Jack raised his eyes to where Ralph was staring at him with a pouty expression on. His eyes darkened. “Of course, sweet...Ralph. Yes, tell away.” He stumbled over his words. Ralph made a bold move: he swung his legs over Jack’s other knee, pulling the King’s legs together and effectively achieving actually sitting on his lap. Feeling like he might burst if he doesn’t do something, Jack reached with his other arm, the one not wrapped around Ralph’s torso, and touched the blonde’s thigh, in what seemed like an attempt at insuring he won’t fall off of his lap. They both knew that wasn’t the true intention behind it.

The redhead was almost overwhelmed by his own satisfaction of finally touching those sinfully carved legs of the Heir. Ralph, however, didn’t seem to mind the palm resting against the flesh covered by his tailored pants and stubbornly described the weather of that morning. Jack forced himself to keep track of his words and glanced at the blond. He was sure he looked like a love struck idiot. He felt the sudden tightness of his trousers and pleaded that Ralph wouldn’t notice. What was he, thirteen again? Jack mentally slapped himself at his lack of self-control.

“Ah, the weather was _so hot_.” Ralph offered an aggravated sigh, forcing a groan in his voice. Jack felt the pants get even tighter than before. Was Ralph aware of what he was doing to him?

“Really? That must’ve been awful.” Jack teased, smirking at Ralph’s pettiness.

“Don’t mock me! At least my skin benefits from the sun. Have you noticed it tanned?”

“Yes, it didn’t escape me.” Jack moved his hand farther up the blonde’s leg and Ralph laughed, draping an arm around the older man’s neck. He leaned in closer and breathed out.

“I’m bored. Any suggestions?”

Jack licked his lips and offered a leer.

“I have a few.” He whispered, leaning in as well, just as he was about to taste that heavenly mouth, a series of complaints were heard from behind the doors at the end of the huge room. Ralph jumped up at the sound of a muffled ‘Let us in! Jack knows we’re coming, we’ve told him we’d visit!’. The two royals exchanged a look.

“Shit!” Jack cursed. “Those are Roger and Maurice. I forgot about them.”

“It’s okay.” Ralph lied, more than disappointed that they were interrupted. They broke apart and Jack watched the blonde busying himself with inexistent creases on his shirt. An awkward moment passed between them. “I’ll see you…at dinner, I guess.” Ralph flushed red and Jack wondered how come he was blushing now, but not before, when they were in that compromising position.

“Yeah.” Jack agreed and watched as the blonde hurried through another door that led away from where Maurice was arguing with the guards, while Roger was rolling his eyes. Jack composed himself and welcomed his friends inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always welcome! Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to last chapter, folks. Enjoy!

Jack had gathered a group of servants who had the job of planning a huge banquet for Ralph’s 18th birthday. He wanted this one to be better than the other two parties that he had thrown in the prince’s honor since he had been living at the castle. This one marked Ralph turning into an adult and he wanted to make it an unforgivable night.

Too bad that the servants were just mindless idiots who weren’t even capable of doing their job. Their ideas for designing the ballroom were kind of a downer. Yes, they weren’t the worst ideas possible, but they weren’t exactly brilliant either. More like, mediocre. Jack suppressed a groan, this was going slower than he expected.

“Come on, people, show me what you’ve got. I don’t have all day, you know?” He barked, snapping his fingers. A slender woman in her fifties hurried forward and fumbled with a stack of papers, momentarily getting lost in them and hoping to find her words in between the pages. Jack rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. He threw his head back and exhaled, trying to make his impatience clear. He’s been stuck here for…two hours and forty minutes already. He had a lot of other things to do than hear out those imbeciles stumble over their words and try to come up with suggestions on the spot.

“I ask you to do one thing, people: show me _one_ idea for decorating the room. I’ve given you, what? A week already.” He growled, then continued.  

“ ‘It will be done by the end of the day, your Majesty! Count on us!!’ “ He mocked, pitching his voice to ridicule them.

“ ’Yeah,’ I thought to myself. ‘I’ll have around ten different ideas and designs I can choose from afterwards’. And yet here I am…kind of design-choices-less.” He deadpanned.

“My patience is running thin, to say the least. And it runs even _thinner_ , when I remind myself that I’m actually _paying_ you to sit here and just stare at my shoes.”

He saw one of the people in the group fidget and open his mouth a few times, then close it again. He was growing frustrated with this. The man exchanged a pointed look with another servant. Jack narrowed his eyes in annoyance. The second servant opened her mouth as well, but this time, the King’s ears were graced with a few shaky words.

“Um, your Majesty, if I may—“

“Yes!” He faked excitement, gripping the arms of the throne and leaning towards them. “Hit me with your best shot.” He said, crossing his arms.

“Uh, th-the ballroom, I thought we could hold the party in the ballroom on the second floor—and—“

Jack started to massage his temples.

“Yeah. I know. We’ve decided the place where it will be held two weeks ago. Anything new?” He demanded, impatience clear in his voice.

“Yes, your Majesty! Hear me out! So—the ballroom. The party is held there, as you know—“

“I know! I get it! That’s the point!” Jack raised his voice. “I know, I know! The party is going to be in the ballroom! I know! You know! _We all know_. I get— _the concept_.” He punctuated, shouting and gesturing. “What I want is something new. Like, what food should be served? What colors should the curtains be? Just fucking present me with some shit, you idiots! You keep repeating your words, but you’re actually not saying anything.”

The gangly man in the back spoke up.

“But we haven’t decided yet on the other details. We know the main scheme—“

“No, you don’t know _shit._ You only ‘know’ where it will be held, and _I_ was the one to decide that. What have you done since you’ve been hired? Huh?”

“Well—“

“Have you decided what the guests are going to eat?”

“No, your Majesty.”

“Have you decided what kind of music they’re going to dance to?”

“N-no, your Ma—“

“Have you at least compiled a list of guests?”

“…No.”

“Then what the fucking hell have you been doing? Counting the windows? The tiles on the floor?” He was ready to scream.

The servants lowered their heads.

“Jesus Christ!” He threw his arms up and gritted his teeth.

After a long pause filled with tension, a small voice cut through the air.

“We-We’ve decided what your son—“

 _“Ralph is not my son!”_ Jack shouted, completely furious by now.

“Get me ideas by tonight, you useless lot of morons— _or else_!” He thundered, the echo of his voice resonating in the throne room and he left, black cape slashing through the air.

 

 

 

Two weeks after that, he’d managed to find a competent enough team who was –wait for it—actually capable of a brainstorming session with concluding results. Thank God.

 

 

“Ralph, beloved, what should I give you for your 18th birthday?” Jack purrs behind him and Ralph jumps slightly in surprise from his spot at the window overlooking the Garden. He feels Jack’s hands being placed on his shoulders, feels the warmth of his palms seeping through his dress shirt. He sees the reflection of the smirking red headed king and marvels at how, after three years in his presence, every time Jack touched him, even in the most innocent of ways, tingles of pleasure ran up his spine. He feels as if he’s never going to get accustomed to the King’s intoxicating touch.

“Huh?” He murmurs distractedly, focusing on the closeness of Jack’s chest to his back, on the welcomed heaviness of Jack’s hold on his shoulders. He stares into the King’s eyes in the glass of the window and feels weak in the knees. He’s never been as close to him before, except in his most shameful dreams. He wants to savor this moment and remember it for all eternity.

“I asked you,” Jack knows what he’s doing to Ralph and he delights in it wholeheartedly, Ralph suspects. “What should I offer you for your 18th birthday?”

Ralph feels a surge of boldness.

“You…you know perfectly well what I want.” His voice didn’t tremble, thankfully.

“Hmm, I’ll have to guess, I’m afraid. I’ve given you my crown, last year. I’ve given you the finest jewels and clothes I could find, hell I’ve given you my kingdom, you’re going to inherit it someday… I do wonder, what is it that an old, old man like me could offer a beautiful young man like you?” He teases mercilessly. Ralph pouts and Jack’s eyes darken watching the purse of his lips in the reflection.

“You’re not old, bloody hell. You’re only 28.”

“Hm, be it so, but my point still stands. What can I offer you more, Ralph?” Ralph swallows and debates if he should straight up say it or if he should keep his mouth shut, since he doesn’t trust himself anyway to say anything coherent.

“Unless…” He feels the red head’s hot breath on his neck and his skin breaks out in goosebumps. He fears he’s going to faint and his face is possibly the reddest it’s ever been. Jack’s whisper is searing hot in his ear. “Unless you want _me_.” Ralph can’t help himself, he inhales in a short gasp.

“Oh,” Jack says smugly. “So it’s true. My, my, what a greedy, greedy boy.”

“I’ve learned from the best.” Ralph sighs and leans back towards Jack, trying to get as close to him as possible. Jack’s hands have long since traveled down his arms, leaving a scorching path in their wake, and are now resting on the blonde’s waist.

“But see, you can’t possibly beat me at my own game, babe, I want something in return.” Jack taunts, enjoying himself as much as possible in this glorious moment, when he’s finally touching his beautiful, beautiful Ralph so intimately. Ralph, sweet, lovely Ralph.

“So what’s it going to be? Well?”

“You want me?” Ralph breathes out. He throws his head on the older man’s shoulder.

“I’m already yours. I’ve been yours ever since that first day, when our carriage—ngh.” He groans as he feels Jack’s burning embrace enveloping him. The redhead nuzzles his neck.

“But if I’m going to be yours… Then…then there will be no more affairs. Only me.” Ralph warns. He feels Jack’s smile.

“Wouldn’t dream of having it any other way, love.” He agrees.

“You promise?” He asks, uncertainty probing his voice. “Because if you even—If I’m not enough, I don’t know what will I—“ Ralph struggles, worry lacing his words.

“Shh. I promise, Ralph. I’ve hadn’t had anyone in _months_. You know that.” Jack says this gently, with an unusual tenderness, which he reserved only for the prince.

“I know.” And the blond truly knew. He was aware of Jack’s… chaste attitude in those past few months. Ralph suddenly grins, twists around in the King’s embrace and wraps his arms around the redhead’s neck. Jack mirrors his expression.

“Don’t worry, Jack. Once you have me, you won’t need anyone else. I’ll make sure of it.” He coyly smirks, leaning up. Jack moves away just before their mouths can collide and whispers in his ear.

“Can’t wait ‘till this night’s over, can you, Ralph?”

“ _Please_? Just one kiss, _please_. You’ve never denied me anything before, have you? Can’t you give me this?” Ralph begs, feeling his desire rise up.

“I’m afraid not.” Jack says and, using all his force of will, breaks apart from their embrace and straightens himself. Ralph watches him dazedly.

“See you tonight, Ralph. Wear your best suit.” He winks and leaves the room.

“You…you fucking tease!” Ralph groans out in frustration and then proceeds to smile and fidget the rest of the day, anxious for the party to start.

 

As the night nears its end, Jack contemplates the past few weeks. Okay, he’s actually contemplating everything that followed Ralph’s arrival at the castle. This party actually turned out very well, surprisingly. It seemed like a sudden surge of inspiration had hit the bunch of dimwits, and they actually made the room look stunning. He knows what will happen afterwards. From today on, Ralph is his. Really his. They just have to be quiet about it and not raise more suspicions than they have already. After all, he’s still married to the blonde’s mother. He’s pretty sure that everyone can guess what will happen after the party—or at least, he’s certain that Simon, Roger and Maurice know. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is Ralph, whom he’d do anything for.

As the two royals head towards Jack’s quarters, one hour later, he leans down and murmurs in Ralph’s ear, feeling him shiver in delightful anticipation.

“Ready for this, Ralph?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Ralph grins and connects their mouths together in an open-mouthed kiss, full of the promise of more. Yeah, the Heir’s lips are definitely sweeter than he’s imagined they would be, and his moans are better than anything his dreams could ever come up with. They stumble into the King's bedroom, grinning like fools.

Everything that follows…well that’s a story for another day.

_THE END_

_Bonus:_

_“Aw, come on, Roger, I’m not sitting in the Council Room anymore. I’m 97% sure Jack had an intense make out session there, with the golden boy.”_

_“What happened to the other 3%?” Roger asked, a poker face etched on his features, not convinced that he wants to hear Maurice out._

_“The other three are, by my best guess, them fucking against those walls. I don’t even wanna go there, Roge. Trust me.” Maurice had a shit eating grin on his face._

_“I didn’t need to picture that.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited and yet kind of sad to see this project almost come to an end. I've invested a lot of work in this fanfiction and I think it turned out pretty well. Considering this was only supposed to be a collection of a few short moments in this timeline, concentrated in only 2 or 3 chapters, I would say that this is more than satisfying for me, the author. I feel like I've written what I've most wanted to tell about this AU, but I don't know what the future holds.  
> I've had a lot of doubts about actually posting this, but it went better than expected. I cannot stress enough how much joy and excitement I've felt writing this, posting it online and receiving reviews.  
> I will check this from time to time for new comments. I just want to say that, if you guys have any questions to ask me about this AU, or if you want to know something, you can definitely leave your questions in the comment section. I'll be more than glad to answer them, so don't be shy!  
> Special thanks to my bff, who supported me through all of this and who offered me confidence when I had my doubts! Love you, girl!  
> Also thank you, Meme Chief Maurice, for leaving a comment on every chapter, it meant a lot to me! Thanks to all of the other people who reviewed as well, to the ones who left kudos and to the ones who bookmarked this! I love you all.  
> Hope you all have a nice day!  
> -Kisses, superficial_lagoon  
> Update: Though I said I wouldn't write a smut scene, I actually tested myself and wrote one, just to try it. The original plot of the fic ends here, and the following chapter is...a moment set sometime after they get together. Ralph is 18-19-ish, I guess.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I didn't plan on adding smut initially but...here I go? I'm not sure how good this actually is.  
> Anyway, this is like an ...epilogue, I guess. Ralph is 18-19-ish in this. This is totally random I know, but I just HAD to write it haha.

It’s around eleven in the morning and neither one of them expected to get it on in the Council Room. In fact, none of this was even planned out. They had just met accidentally in the hall near the room and had held eye contact for a few moments. The blond had stared at the King’s face, both of them bathed in the blinding sunlight streaming in from the huge windows, Jack’s blue eyes almost transparent and glassy looking. They had stopped abruptly right in front of each other and shared a meaningful glance. In a minute, they were inside the room, kissing passionately, with urgency.

It is all so random and unexpected, and it’s what makes this all the more intense.

“I have a meeting soon.” Jack says, undoing the buttons of Ralph’s turquoise suit.

“So? I’m supposed to head towards the other wing of the castle.” Ralph murmurs, kissing below Jack’s jaw.

“For?”

“Geography and history lessons. It starts…” The prince cranes his neck and squints at a clock on the other side of the room. “…right about now. Oops.” He shrugs and meets Jack’s mouth halfway in a searing kiss. Jack breaks it first, his mouth still hovering over Ralph’s lips.

“Open your mouth.” He demands and Ralph complies, feeling his eyes flutter shut and roll back in pleasure, as Jack’s tongue roams his mouth, entangling with Ralph’s own in a fierce and sensual dance.

He feels Jack’s hands fumble with his pants and tries to help him, half out of his mind and not entirely aware of his surroundings. His trousers are now open and Jack sneaks a hand in, palming Ralph roughly through the thin material of his boxers. Ralph moans and pushes his hips into the redhead’s hand, seeking some kind of friction. He kisses the King, hands on the back of his neck and through his crimson hair, trying to pull him closer than ever.

Ralph loves this the most about Jack. How he can one night be gentle, and take him to the edge in slow strokes, or be rough and push him towards bliss with sudden touches.

Ralph takes the red haired man’s bottom lip between his and sucks on it, drawing a moan out of the monarch. As the door knob jerks suddenly, Ralph twitches and accidentally bites hard on the older man’s lip. Jack groans out in a mix of pleasure and pain and licks his lips, tasting warm copper. Ralph looks at him embarrassed and worries his own lip between his teeth, cheeks growing pink.

“S-sorry ‘bout that.” He whispers and averts his gaze. He jerks again as someone knocks on the door.

“Jack what—“ He begins to say, but Jack’s palm covers his mouth in a second and the redhead grits out. “Quiet! Do you really want them to hear us?”

“Don’t worry, I locked the door when we came in.” Jack continues and watches the way Ralph’s shoulders slump in relief. He’s still tense, though. The red haired man roams his gaze over Ralph’s body, observing his disheveled state, suit crumpled slightly, pants open, an obvious bulge between his legs. He smirks. “But what would’ve happened if I _hadn’t_ locked the door?” He says in a low voice, noting Ralph’s flush. He so loves teasing the Heir.

“Maybe they would’ve came in, don’t you think?” His question is rhetorical, of course. He doesn’t expect a verbal answer, but appreciates Ralph wide eyes nonetheless.

“Maybe they would have seen you like this. A desperate—“ He grips him roughly through his undergarments and feels Ralph swallow thickly, his whimper muffled by Jack’s hand. “—moaning, hard mess.” He punctuated, his whisper mocking.

“Would you enjoy that? Putting on a show for them?” Ralph averts his gaze in an attempt at escaping Jack’s merciless stare. Jack grins and the hand that had previously covered Ralph’s mouth grips his chin, forcing Ralph to face him. “Well that’s too bad, because only I get to see you like this.” His words are tinged with possessiveness. Hazy eyes land on the King’s bitten lip, where blood still shines. Jack’s finger tilt his jaw upwards. “Look at me, Ralph.” Pools of ripe green stare at him and the prince bites his own lip again.

“My God, you’re so beautiful.” Jack marvels at him, momentarily struck by the vision of red cheeks and emerald eyes. He threads a hand through Ralph’s blonde locks, ruffling them even more. “All mine.” His eyes turn feral as he watches Ralph’s pupils dilate with lust. “All yours.” Ralph agrees. The King connects their mouths one more time and plunges his tongue in the prince’s willing mouth yet again. He swallows all the moans that threaten to escape the blonde’s throat. Ralph gasps as his back hits the wall, his breath being knocked out of him, the King’s hold on his waist domineering. The redhead presses against his chest and grinds their hips together forcefully. They’re both impossibly hard and the banging at the door is gone, silence enveloping the air once more.

“Please.” Ralph begs.

The older man tugs forcefully at the prince’s golden tresses, tilting his head back and exposing a pale neck. He bites somewhere on his throat and Ralph’s hips buck up into his. “Keep silent.” Jack reminds him from where he’s buried in the Heir’s neck and feels the prince nod and gulp.

He sucks on the creamy skin and leaves dark hickeys that Ralph is going to have problems hiding the next morning. He knows the blond doesn’t mind, though, being marked by the King like this. Not really. He may whine about it when he’s forced to wake up before the maids come in to help him prepare, having to cover up the bites in powder before anyone can see them, but he doesn’t actually want it any other way. Jack switches to another spot on the prince’s throat, repeating the process.

 The redhead’s other hand slides between Ralph’s navel and the waistband of his boxers and grips the blond’s erection. The prince’s chest heaves in a sudden intake of breath and he gasps, as Jack’s calloused hand slides over his sensitive flesh roughly.

“Please, Jack, please.” This is all Ralph can pronounce anymore, any other words having left his mind.

The King pumps him with quick, hard strokes and Ralph’s head swims in pleasure. He arches and twists and pants, feeling his orgasm approaching.

“Ah! Jack, I’m close. I’m—Don’t stop.” Jack hums and keeps going, giving the Heir exactly what he wants.

“Jack! Jack, please, please, please—“ The older man doesn’t even try to shut him up anymore, delighting in the sincere need hidden in the panted words. Ralph manages to suppress a scream as he comes over Jack’s hands, warm, sticky fluid covering the King’s fingers. Jack chuckles, watching him lean against the wall and draw in hungry breaths, satisfaction etched on his handsome features. After a few moments, when the blonde trusts himself with talking, he whispers, his voice cracked.

“You’re still hard.”

“I know.” Jack nods.

“Let me—“ Ralph suggests, struggling to sit upright, his mind still reeling. As much as Jack desperately wants release, he shakes his head.

“I still have that stupid meeting.” He growls.

“But—“

“We don’t have enough time. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Ralph asks again and Jack groans.

“Just go, before I change my mind and fuck you right here, bent over the table.” Jack growls again. “Shit—that didn’t help.”

Ralph laughs. Jack throws him a dirty look. “I owe you.” Ralph smiles.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, golden boy.” Jack says over his shoulder as he heads to a drawer placed in the far corner of the room, from where he pulls out a towel. He throws it at the prince, after wiping his own hands. The blond catches it and cleans himself as best as he can. Jack tries to comb through his red hair with numb fingers. 

Ralph buttons his attire back up and Jack eyes him, chuckling.

“God, it’s still painfully clear you got fucked.” He smirks and it’s Ralph’s turn to scowl at him.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Well, it’s not like you were begging me _to stop_ , is it Ralph?” Jack raises an eyebrow at him.

“Shut up.” Ralph groans and pulls at his hair, trying to make his actions from just moments ago less obvious to the rest of the world. He succeeds more or less and he heads to the other exit of the room.

“I love you, Jack.” He throws over his shoulder, smiling, just before he gets out of the room.

“Love you too, golden boy.” Jack shakes his head slightly, with unusual fondness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Tell me what you think! - Kisses


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